The halls

A simple prose to bite my teeth on, dealing with the true blackness of life, and how we all walk towards our own death.

We stare at the bloody walls

Fearful of the anguished halls

heed their forlorn calls

as we bang our heads against the blood stained walls.

I fear the rising hate

evermindful of the inescapable fate

will I survive, the losing debate

I can see my death, as if given a date.

look at the golden gate,

as we walk down those halls

escape your fate

embrace death as it calls.